Doom Marvel Future Shock
by Keravin
Summary: 2208 and Doom rules half the world. Look inside his empire
1. Default Chapter Title

There are two Superpowers in the world. DonÌt let anyone tell you otherwise. ItÌs the way itÌs been since 1999. 

America on one side with the Avengers. 

Latveria on the other under Doom. 

Who would you bet on? 

Latveria stretches from the border of Germany right through what was called Russia into Asia. At its centre is a city called New Latveria, the size of a small state on its own. The metropolis rests on what was called Moscow amongst others. 

Towering at the heart of this sprawl is a Palace, housing the court of this empire. More importantly it is the home of a very old man. 

He was a villain. 

He is a King. 

His name is Victor Von Doom. 

## DOOM MFS

### Issue 1 (of 2)

#### ÎThe Games of Pawns and KingsÌ

Written by Mark Peyton, Robin Sutton, and Alex Peyton.  
With special mention to Jericho Vilar and Michael Shirley. 

_SOMEWHERE OVER THE MONGOLIAN PLAIN_

They had come at night, appearing as tiny lights in the dark sky. The village was built in the ruins of a city on the Mongolian plain. Its name had been forgotten. No signs existed to tell of the place it had once been. Even the populace was new, moved here just over a century ago. The villagers knew what the lights were. 

Mikal Poe checked the instruments behind the mask, his fingers flexing in the tight gloves, and signalled for the others to follow in formation. The lights from his armour moved to point downwards as they turned to fly into the base. He was Colonel Mikal Poe of the Latverian Royal Army. Or at least he was for a few hours more. 

He looked around getting used to the sensor sweeps. He switched to a different wavelength and set up a view window looking back at those behind him. This was a training exercise, not just for them, but for him too. Some of the men and women behind had been wearing these suits for years. Each had been specially designed for its wearer. This was only his third time in non simulated flight. He was sure he was going to rack up the airmiles in the coming years. Tomorrow would bring his own suit with it as part of the ceremony. 

This was the final stage. Tomorrow he would become the latest Captain of the Iron Men, DoomÌs personal guard. 

* * *

_NEW LATVERIA_

The Palace was alive with activity. If there was one thing the court enjoyed it was a spectacle. The chance to be something more. 

Rumours were running wild. This was how the court coped when the King had not been seen for weeks. If there was one truth the Court could not escape it was that without Doom it had no power. One question it never asked was how much power it truly had. 

The court was such a monster that it sprawled over four rooms, each large and holding its own secrets. The first room was dominated by a large stoic portrait of the steel monarch. In some of this roomÌs many alcoves sat young courtiers toasting DoomÌs health till many glasses had run dry. In another alcove. In another alcove rested the form of a mysterious African woman. The name which had been given to her was Damask. She was a beauty, despite her age, with her stark white hair flowing down her back, but her eyes... If her eyes looked at you, you would know as if your soul had been read. Most of the court skirted around her, despite her obvious status. You see she had been brought to the court personally by Doom. From such an action many rumours are fired. This ebony beauty, who was she? What was she to be favoured so by Doom? No one would dare ask the King and Damask would simply look into their eyes, deterring even the most ardent gossip. 

To her side stood Silk, a concubine, her arm draped over the shoulder of one of the Asian GovernorÌs sons. The boy, for he had not yet learned the daily ritual of shaving, whispered into her ear, teasing his tongue along the outer ridge of her lobe. She smiled, nodding, pricking her ears to focus past his prattle on the conversation between two far more important court officials. 

No one could say whether Karl Von Doom was the younger image of his father. For his remarkable longevity the steel monarch had never revealed to his court his true face or whether he had repaired the damage wrought upon it at an early age. Karl seemed in temperament to be his fatherÌs son, if a little overeager. Victor Von Doom in his long life had seen the benefits of planning and waiting, but that was a lesson learned through experience. It was KarlÌs overeagerness that was pushing him at the moment. 

ÏThe ceremony is due to start shortly,Ó he said. 

ÏYes, I am aware of that my lord,Ó replied Armand Jean, the Chancellor of the court. He glanced over the arrayed courtiers, searching for the cloaked form of the King. 

ÏAnd I take it you are aware my father has not been sighted for weeks.Ó 

ÏYes, the rumour mill was most accommodating with possible reasons. The shooting star over the city last night did little to calm them.Ó 

Karl considered the sharp features of the Chancellor. He had little time for the obvious schemer and had never understood his fatherÌs decision to raise the man up the courtÌs echelons, but he would not dare to openly question his fatherÌs decision. ÏI propose that we wait a little while longer, then, if the situation remains, I will conduct the ceremony.Ó He pointed his arm to the hover-cameras manoeuvring into position. ÏWe should not keep the people waiting.Ó 

The courtiers began to press into the second inner room, forcing the Chancellor to follow the flow or find his robes trampled upon. As the court shifted murmurs ran through it. The crowd moved to try and clear a central pathway. Silk separated herself from the amorous attentions of the GovernorÌs son and moved to stand at the front of the assemblage. 

Doom strode into the court, his long purple cloak held over his arm as the lights glinted off his armour. He was followed by a tall, crew-cut young man, whom he beckoned forward as he stopped. Victor Von DoomÌs armour was marred by the addition of an ill fitting cybernetic attachment over his left eye. This was a new modification. A couple of the assembled whispered to each other, desperately refraining from pointing at their liege. Doom looked over their faces, setting on SilkÌs elfin features. ÏAttend to your sovereign, concubine, Doom has a duty for you.Ó 

Silk came forward, lowering herself to her knees, eyes down on DoomÌs boots. ÏMy King,Ó she said softly. 

ÏConcubine, you will take care of my guest,Ó Doom paused, waving forward the blonde man, Ïwhilst Doom conducts this ceremony. You will answer his questions and fulfil his wishes. Understood.Ó 

Silk nodded, knowing that this was not a request, but an edict. Doom reached down his gloved hand and lifted Silk up, guiding her back. ÏPiotr, ask of her anything.Ó 

The blonde man nodded dutifully as Doom turned and walked down the cleared path. In front of him lay the lined troops of his royal guard, the Iron Men. Doom knew that none of their number could appreciate the irony of such a name. Their red and silver forms stood like silent sentinels as Doom strode towards his son. The court bowed or curtsied as he passed. Doom paid them little heed. 

The Chancellor was fluid in his bow as Doom nodded to him. ÏArmand, the preparations are in place?Ó 

ÏYes sire, of course.Ó 

Doom looked over his sonÌs features curiously. ÏKarl, you must learn patience. Presumption can make one look foolish. You are the Prince of this glorious country, you must act like one. Doom is here as he said he would be. You were right, it is not fair to keep the people waiting.Ó With a sweep of his hand the ceremony commenced. At the centre of this room DoomÌs throne began to rise from the floor. The cameras tracked the King like hawks as he simply looked into the eyes of his only offspring. 

He turned, throwing back his cloak and stepped slowly onto the dais of the throne. 

* * *

ÏYou join us for a very special occasion. Reporting live for you, Dimitri Stanshek.Ó 

The screen changed to a stock picture of part of the Royal Palace with the National anthem playing softly in the background. This faded out to show a sharply dressed bearded man. In the background the court shuffled as the King settled into his throne. The fanfare started as the Prince moved to stand to one side of his father. Cameras settled on Doom as the country rejoiced at seeing him after his absence. A single camera panned to focus up the clear aisle, past the red and silver of the Guard towards a lone figure stood at its start. 

Mikal looked nervously on the assembled masses. He walked stoically down the aisle, in one arm his helmet, in the other a longsword. His eyes focused on the throne as hovercams manoeuvred around him. 

Doom placed his gloved hand on the throneÌs arm and watched from behind his mask as the armoured Colonel approached. He raised his other arm and extended it, open towards Mikal. 

Mikal lowered himself to one knee and offered up the sword to Doom. His sovereign considered him. ÏWho comes to serve Doom and Latveria?Ó 

The Colonel looked upon his liegeÌs steel face. He summoned his voice from within himself as he looked upon the heart of this empire. ÏI am Mikal Poe. I come to serve as Captain.Ó 

Doom looked past the kneeling man. ÏDo DoomÌs Imperial Guard accept this man as their Captain?Ó 

The Iron Men stood silently for a moment, milking their spotlight, before raising their right arms, banging them to their chests and saying in identical pitch, ÏWe do as Doom commands.Ó 

The cameras span round looking over the red and silver before moving back to settle upon Mikal and Doom. The Steel Monarch considered Mikal slowly, his new eye running over the manÌs face. With his left hand he grasped the blade from Mikal. He brought it up and down to rest the blade flat on MikalÌs shoulder. The flat of the blade pressed on the red shoulder of MikalÌs new armour, then was raised over his head and brought down on the crest of Latveria imprinted on the other shoulder. 

Doom paused with the sword on MikalÌs crested shoulder. ÏRaise yourself Captain, raise yourself and join the Imperial Guard.Ó 

Mikal looked into DoomÌs face and as Doom took the sword from its place, Mikal rose placing his helm over his face. Though it was almost indiscernible to the human ear, Doom was one of the those few in the room who heard the slight hum as MikalÌs armour kicked into life. He stood in front of his King resisting the urge to touch his own face and looked from behind his own mask. 

The cameras made one last sweep hoping for that framing shot of the new Captain and the King. Doom waved his hand and Mikal stepped back into the open space at the head of the Iron Men. Doom pushed himself up. Raising his voice he bellowed, ÏCome before Doom, Piotr.Ó 

At the other end of the room Piotr disentangled himself from the arms of Silk, who pouted playfully. He strode down the central aisle to the murmurs of the assembled court. Doom smiled behind his true face at the commotion. Piotr moved to stand by him as Doom let his cloak fall over his body and Karl watched intently from behind. 

Doom allowed the court to continue its inane chatter and as the noise continued he looked around the room. His gaze brought silence. 

ÏIt is a tradition of this court for Doom to raise those subjects he finds worthy to serve this great land of ours. Doom brings amongst you, one Piotr Takarinov. He is as worthy as any of you and his place at the court is ensured.Ó 

The Court murmured again, but quietened as the Iron Men shifted in stance. 

Piotr smiled quietly to himself as the gaze of the court rested upon him. 

There was spite and envy in their eyes. How dare this little man be brought up to their level? It was the same every time a new person was brought amongst them. The majority of the Court had their own notions of their superiority. Were they not worthy to serve the ruler of half the world? 

Doom stood silently listening to the chatter as Piotr looked around the room. While most of the assembled were looking at him, a few were intently considering him. To the back of the court a striking coloured woman with stark white hair looked over him. She said nothing but her blue eyes burned fiercely as they looked at him. She was dressed in what appeared to be a shawl and loose silks. They covered the majority of her form except for her face. Around her there did not appear to be anyone who stood by her but rather were forced to be in the same vicinity. 

Much closer to the throne stood a sharply dressed man with very defined features. He carried in his one hand what appeared to be a staff of office. Piotr had seen this man talking with Doom and the Prince when he had arrived and seemed to remember him from state announcements upon the media. Piotr looked into this manÌs eyes and it seemed to him that he was not looking at Piotr, but rather at an opportunity. The man was understated in his attire, but what he wore was worn for a purpose. The concubine Silk had called this man Armand when Piotr had asked about him. His gaze was the most unsettling. 

PiotrÌs last gaze rested upon a figure crouched at the feet of the Iron Men. His presence seemed slightly incongruous with some of the hi-tech dotted around the court. Sitting cross-legged between the glinting armour was the red and yellow of a Jester. The stooped little man seemed to be mimicking the chatter of the rest of the court by talking to his carved wooden stick. His eyes settled upon Piotr and for a second Piotr saw a spark, something hidden behind the tomfoolery. But only for a second.... 

Doom waved his hand and the crowd was silent. ÎWell trained were his dogs.Ì ÏPiotr is to be accorded respect and he will begin his duties under me personally shortly.Ó ÎThe dogs would realise the importance that simple statement had attached.Ì Doom turned to consider his son, who kept his annoyance well in check for once. ÎGood he is learning. But he has yet to learn to master all his mannerisms. A Father knows his son.Ì 

Doom nodded to Piotr. ÏFamiliarise yourself with the court. One of the concubines will take you to your quarters when you are ready. Tomorrow we will start.Ó Piotr bowed gracefully before his liege. 

The court stood in muted silence as Doom began to walk past his guard. The crowd bowed in time with his footfalls as the two Iron Men closest to the throne followed behind the long deep purple cloak of their Master. 

Doom wheeled quickly through the outer rooms of the quarters, walking with purpose to his laboratories. The Iron Men were the only members of his court who would not feel awkward being close to his labs. Doom kept his private quarters far from the rest of the court. In his castle, his Empire he was beholden to no one. The labs were kept separate for a reason. He felt no reason to explain that reason to any. 

The Iron Men stood guard outside the entrance to the labs for purely ceremonial reasons. Doom had not survived centuries by being unable to defend himself. Anything that could vanquish Victor Von Doom would not be stopped by two Iron Men. For the countryÌs sake Doom allowed the notion that he was continuously guarded from harm to be visible. The people loved him and Doom wished their emotional well being. Guarding his person was not the purpose of the Iron Men. 

* * *

Piotr had been exchanging pleasantries with various members of the court. The Prince had introduced himself briefly, but left after a very short discussion. Still the little man in the red and yellow watched, his eyes darting away when he was spotted to be replaced by his wooden likeness. Piotr slowly started to move about the room past the remaining Iron Men. The rest had either followed the King or the Captain, when he had departed shortly after his monarch. Laughter rang from one corner as a rather inebriated young man chased after one of the concubines. Piotr smiled slightly at the antics, but had started to feel chafed by the garments provided for the ceremony. He was simply not use to wearing the heavy finery. His fingers pulled at the collar self consciously. 

ÏAnything amiss?Ó a voice asked. 

Piotr turned to consider the Chancellor standing before him, a practised smile upon his lips. 

ÏEr... no,Ó Piotr quickly replied, Ïnothing at all.Ó 

ÏThat is good. We have not been formally introduced. My name is Armand Jean and as you may know I am the Chancellor for the Court.Ó 

Piotr extended his hand to ArmandÌs amusement. ÏPiotr Takarinov.Ó 

Armand took his hand slowly and squeezed in a forceful grasp. ÏYes, I did pay attention during the ceremony.Ó That practised smile once more. PiotrÌs eyes settled on the face of the Chancellor as he made sure he showed no sign of discomfort at the handshake. Armand released his hand and reached for a glass from a passing tray. ÏThe King did not say what your position was to be at the Court?Ó 

Piotr nodded. ÏNo, he did not. I wonder if there was a reason for that, but who I am to question the KingÌs decisions.Ó 

That smile again. ÏQuite. IÌm sure all will become clear in time.Ó 

ÏMost probably.Ó 

Armand sipped his glass, his eyes fixed upon the smiling face of Piotr. ÏWell if you have any questions or problems do not hesitate to ask.Ó 

ÏHis Majesty said to avail myself upon the concubines, but I will bear your kind offer in mind.Ó PiotrÌs tone had been carefully chosen as he spoke to Armand. He kept his eyes upon the ChancellorÌs face as he witnessed a first crack in the manÌs air of composure. 

The Chancellor nodded. ÏYou are too kind. Now I must attend to duties.Ó He turned and walked slowly away. ÎImpudent boy. Who did he think he was addressing? Steps would have to be taken to remind this Court of his status.Ì He walked away not looking back, seething. 

* * *

Later; much later. The stilted celebrations had passed away, and Doom had returned to his work. He had been away too long, and the real business of ruling such a vast sprawling empire was always done behind closed doors. The pomp was for the sheep. Doom had little time for the sheep Ò sycophantic lackeys who looked after their own interests and had no concept of the bigger picture. He ruled here with absolute authority, but he ruled well because he knew that the success of his people was his own success. Most of the court would rule for their own personal gain, and be dead within a year. He was better than all of them, and this was not his ego talking. This was just a statement of fact. 

He made sure that his chambers were secure, and slipped into one of the concealed rooms. He had several, and they all had different functions. This was the nerve centre of his power Ò once again, everything else was for show. Certainly, he could rule in the court, but the real secret of any power was in what the ruler did in private. 

The rig lay before him exactly as he had left it. Gleaming metals and plastics beckoned to him Ò he had been away for far too long. He cast his cape aside and sank into the couch with a sigh of relief. Now he could be himself and not what people expected him to be. He slotted the datajack into his temple, and the flood of information immediately swamped his senses. 

Swirling mists flooded about his body. He had never designed a personal area, and he never thought that he needed one. Cyberia was full of small boundaries and meaningless borders. He was determined that he would not add to them Ò in fact, he often dreamed of removing them all. Cyberia would be united, and no longer a mere reflection of the paranoia of the real world. 

His muscles flexed beneath his blinding silver armour. A cape of datastream flowed about his body, and a heavy broadsword, twinkling with digital signals and sensor checks, appears in his hands. He was ready to face the challenges that Cyberia might hold. Doom lay on a couch in his Palace. Here in Cyberia, he was the Knight of Virtue, and nothing could stand in his way. 

He walked out of the mists and onto the Superhighway. Flickering shadows moved swiftly around him, travelling from one site to another. His sensor arrays scanned each in turn, finding nothing of any real interest ÷ no, wait a moment. The shadow heading south towards Inner Server 37. It had an unusual access pattern Ò alien almost. And it was trying to hide the pattern with a storm of Ice. Well, that might have confused the gullible Watchmen, but not him. They had a hacker of unknown origin, and it was heading right for the Latverian nerve centre. 

Not a very clever thing to do. 

Doom Ò alias the Knight of Virtue Ò sped after the hacker, and caught the interloper in a matter of seconds. The hacker gave very little resistance as the huge sword sliced deeply into his body. With a surprised flash, the intruder flickered, and vanished. Doom wasted no time, but followed the connection back to its source. The landscape flowed past at incredible speed, and changed to a small dark room, decorated with images of cheesecake pornography and stars of the contemporary music scene. The hacker's private area was clearly not a secure unit. In fact, it looked like a teenager's bedroom. Doom's scans provided no indication of any espionage or intrigue. For a moment, he was perplexed. 

A brief flash announced the arrival of the hacker. He was a long-haired and well-muscled individual (or so he wanted to appear) but he was also extremely clumsy. His movements were irregular, as if he had not quite mastered the use of his Net rig. 

"What the hell are Ò you kicked me off, you bastard!" The hacker was not very pleased. 

Doom lifted him up by his shirt and allowed red light to blast from his eye slits and play across the face of the hacker. "You dare to invade the privacy of Latveria? The sanctity of the holy ground should not be defiled by one such as you! What do you have to say for yourself?" 

The hacker struggled and hurled abuse at his captor. Doom shook him hard. 

"Who sent you? What do you want? Answer me!" 

The youth cried out in his struggles. "Nobody sent me, man! I just went for a joke. How the hell did you get here?" 

Doom cast the hacker aside. "Worthless net trash. I'll teach you to meddle in the affairs of government!" He blasted away at the site, leaving exposed areas of data and random sprays of code flickering in the darkness. With that, Doom headed out into the world beyond. 

He breathed deeply. The Superhighway was such a vibrant place. So alive Ò not like Latveria. That place was becoming stagnant, steeped in intrigues. The Americas were no better. But Cyberia had the dreams, the hopes, the aspirations of its people all on show. 

Cyberia was often more real than reality ever could be. 

Doom looked about him, and got his bearings. He set off for home, his mind troubled by the hacker. Was Latveria so insecure that a mere boy could break into secure areas as a mere prank? He doubted it. A fluke then? Maybe. But he was not going to let this lie. He would need to investigate the American cyber network a little more. In fact, he had a mind to set up a permanent operation designed to monitor and process the Net behaviour of his allies and enemies. 

The Net contained a lot of information. Doom believed that information was power. Doom liked power. Power was a good thing. 

With a grim smile he headed back to reality with invasion plans germinating in his head. 

* * *

**NEXT ISSUE** - More intrigue from the Court of Doom as we see the eyes and ears of DoomÌs Latveria. Why did Doom change the world? What other games are being played at the court and what will PiotrÌs fate be? Find out in issue 2 of the first Doom MFS series. 

* * *

This issue was written as a collaboration. The initial idea for Doom of MFS came from Michael Shirley as did the notion of the Iron Men, which I twisted in the MFS prelude. This miniseries was originally a Oneshot but we thought it only fair to let the readers see what Latveria was like as soon as possible, hence the two issue miniseries. The plan with the Doom oneshots and miniseries for the first year is to have various writers bring their own visions to Doom as his place in our world is examined. So no Doom ongoing for the first year to allow everyone a chance to play with him. If you have an idea youÌd like to try with Doom then simply send in a proposal following the submission guidelines on the front page. Writers who are currently involved in planning oneshots are Jericho Vilar and Jac Milnestein. After next issue IÌll be back for at least one more Doom tale this year looking at DoomÌs place amongst the Immortals of MFS. With this issue and the first Avengers America Oneshot you can start to see some of the major players on MFSÌs world stage. 

Recommended reading for this is of course Machiavelli's the Prince and the Empire books by Raymond E. Feist and Janny Wurts. 

Hope you enjoyed the issue and we see you next time.  


Any mail and comments on this issue to [Starman26@hotmail.com][1]. 

   [1]: mailto:Starman26@hotmail.com



	2. Default Chapter Title

## DOOM MFS

#### Issue 2 (of 2)

### ÎPawn takes BishopÌ

Written by Mark Peyton, Robin Sutton and Alex Peyton.  
With special mention to Jericho Vilar and Michael Shirley.

* * *

The Fool looked out from behind the pillar. His head moved back and from the other side popped out a wooden caricature of his pointed features, his marotte. Its mouth opened beneath the long flowing moustache that ÎdistinguishedÌ it from its holder. From its general direction a squeaky, off key voice said, ÏWhat can you see, Fool?Ó 

Underneath the red and yellow the Fool glared. ÏWho are you calling Fool, Sticky?Ó 

The chiselled wooden nose pressed to the FoolÌs fleshy nose as they glared at one another. The Stick looked past the Fool and went, ÏPhwarr,Ó at a figure over the FoolÌs shoulder. Fool responded, spinning around on his toes and dashed across to one of the Concubines. She shied away as the Fool stroked at her and then placed the Stick to his covered ear. 

His eyes ran over her form and he whispered to the girl, ÏHe wants to be your lover.Ó The womanÌs companion waved away the red and yellow form who scuttled towards one of the Iron Men. He raised the stick up to consider the red and silver. Near to the Iron Man stood a man called Kage. 

Kage stood in dark green silks, with only a single ornament upon his body. His reputation went on the fact that he had no scars upon his body and after years as a mercenary and now as an assassin that was reasonably impressive. Around his neck hung a silver dagger and the Fool watched its point almost hypnotised as Kage flicked his hoodbells. The jingling drew Fool from his daze. 

All around the court continued with its little games, flirtations and bustle. The King was not present, but this was how the court truly functioned. The Court needed the King, but Doom had never needed the court. In the creation of the empire of Latveria, which is separate to the country of Latveria, it was DoomÌs vision and planning that took advantage of fractured polities and swept them under his leadership. Too much time had been spent worrying about an apocalypse that never came that no one had been prepared for the New World Doom forcibly crafted. A world created by one man, not by one man and his court. The court continued to delude itself to this day, but within its midst it missed the true holders of power. 

The Fool bored off scuttling round at the feet of those who did not see the mirth of a man and his stick. He somersaulted past the self importance out of the throne rooms down various corridors. The Palace was constructed in various styles dependent on DoomÌs moods. The various labs were of such quality that the technology far exceeded that of a large section of the world by a minimum of decades. There was that curious mix of hi-tech and almost medieval. DoomÌs Palace reflected the man - a sea of conflicting ideas and even ideals, but a truly benevolent dictator. 

As he cleared the Court areas the Fool switched from somersaults to simply walking. The corridors were clear as the party in the throne rooms continued. Fool paid it little heed checking on the head of the Stick. The wooden face fell away from the rest of the head on a hinge to reveal complex circuitry. Fool smiled and took a tiny chip from the centre of the board within the carved head and turned to face the door to his room. The door swung open and the Fool stopped stooping and threw back his head, the balls no longer making any sound. Without his stoop the man they called Fool walked with more menace. There was no frippery in his walk; it was clean and crisp. The door swung shut behind as he kept walking through the wall. 

The simple lodgings of the Fool faded away as row upon row of vidscreens, holo projection units and monitors arranged themselves in front of him. A robotic hand reached down as the Fool held up the tiny chip, which it took disappearing up to the rafters. 

Latveria is a country of masks. 

Fool, or Heathen as his true name is, hides his true function at court behind the mask of frivolity. No one has ever seen fit to question why a man such as Doom would have a jester at his court. DoomÌs jesters, for there have been many during his reign, are also his spymasters. 

Heathen said quietly, ÏOn,Ó as the room exploded into images. 

Screen upon screen erupted with shots from throughout the Empire. A bank of monitors moved down displaying the Throne rooms. As he had expected, Piotr was being sized up as an opportunity and a threat. Nothing changed with the introduction of the new. 

He directed another group down as a series of names ran across the screens. The Shadow Riders of Japan to the Special Executive of Cyberia and Europe. These groups dared to regale against his beloved sovereign. Asia was rife with dissidents unhappy at their position within the Empire. There cybered terrorists aping samurai wished a return to a different kind of dynasty. The Shadow Riders had not yet assumed zealot status, but they were growing in aims and attracting the attention of those who would use them for their own games. Heathen had heard tell of Prince KarlÌs intention to visit Asia within the coming months. He smiled. Karl had no idea, but still he played foolish games kept alive as Doom groomed him. In HeathenÌs eyes the games and schemes Karl was allowed to cultivate could be seen to be training. What the Court did not realise was that none of the games would be allowed to damage the Empire, nor the King and his aims. The belief that they could scheme under a MasterÌs nose kept the court in blissful happiness. 

His eyes turned to the Special Executive. Common net mercenaries who had skirted with the defences of an information node. There was no reason to allow this group any inflated ideals so they would not be allowed access. A group to watch however, with the looming storm. 

Turning from the monitors, Heathen moved over to a large view screen. The screen slowly lit from the centre to show the bound form of a woman strapped to a long chair. Half her long brown hair had been shaven and tears ran down from her bloodshot eyes. Heathen spoke slowly. ÏThey tell me you want to talk now?Ó 

She nodded slowly as much as she could with her neck restrained. 

ÏI take it you are ready to admit you are one of the Brotherhood. One of the Black Air.Ó 

Again she nodded, her mouth trying to speak. 

Heathen shook his head. ÏWhen will they learn we will not tolerate spies upon our soil.Ó Her eyes closed as her fate loomed. ÏEyes open girl,Ó Heathen spat. She reopened her eyes staring at the blank screen. There was silence for a moment before Heathen said to the other occupant of the room, ÏLisette, dissect her. I want to know if there have been any more genetic modifications of their agents.Ó 

The hooded woman behind the table nodded and the screen turned to black for both Heathen and the girl. 

* * *

Victor Von Doom stood over an array of screens and watched the little people swan around. There were few beneath his feet he had any time for with their fawning and two facedness. He never expected peers, but the people of his court were not the beloved of his subjects. His eyes closed beneath his mask. All this had been to prevent the future. He had faced himself in one of those moments you prepare for when you time travel and found himself lacking. 

Not his current self, but rather the creature which had come from a future dressed in a fanciful armour. He spoke of a catastrophe to Latveria, which ÎheÌ sought to advert. Doom brought his glove up to his steel lips. ÎAmusing that an ill thought out plan would have turned his mind to the schemes it eventually let blossom. The Future DoomÌs words had been that if I did not care for his future, I should change it and prove him wrong.Ì [See Doom 2099 #43 - Mark] 

ÎAnd so Doom was set on the path to build a better world and safeguard Latveria. My ancestorÌs land is at the core of everything this Empire accomplishes. Its well being is paramount.Ì 

ÎThis is my Empire and my people! No one will bring harm to them. What I do, I do for their well being. Doom cares little what others think of my schemes. Few in this world have the vision or wisdom to stand at my level. They sit and watch Latveria like hawks as their kingdoms fall apart at their feet. The world will know DoomÌs mind soon enough.Ì 

* * *

The elevator door slid open and Mikal Poe stepped out into one of the main service corridors that filtered throughout the ÎPalaceÌ. Although it was late, the Palace had not stopped. There was still a fair amount of activity with servants, technicians and courtiers bustling past, no doubt involved in some minor task. He remembered a few menial tasks from his early days in the military and laughed. They were having to do jobs that he would no longer would have to do. He was a man of power and influence. The notorious power games played by the court, hunting for what scraps the liege would give would bring further reward. All would seek to ingratiate themselves with him and who knows what might come of that. 

He brushed past an obviously hurried servant, who carried on oblivious with his duties. Mikal straightened his uniform and continued on down the corridor. Despite having been newly appointed to his post, there had only been minimal bureaucratic nonsense to deal with. Large militaries tended to be weighed down by bureaucracy, expecting soldiers to deal with stupid things such as forms to fill out so that supplies could be requested but Mikal had to respect the fact that New Latveria allowed soldiers to get on with what they were trained for. 

ÏCaptain Poe,Ó A shout from further on down the corridor interrupted MikalÌs deliberations. He scanned around to see where the voice originated from and spotted a New Latverian major moving hurriedly down the corridor towards him. The soldier pushed his way through the throng, clutching a compupad. When he reached Mikal, he saluted. Unfortunately, with long exposure to the Americas, tiny bits of their culture had seeped in and salutes were now of the American style side of hand against the forehead. 

ÏMajor Nikolia Rasputin of the New Latverian Airforce,Ó he proclaimed, ÏIÌm your new attache. I have orders for your perusal, sir.Ó As Major Rasputin handed the compupad to Mikal, he noted that at least his attache was not a freshman officer, just out of the academy. From the way he favoured his left leg, Mikal suspected an injury, most likely suffered in battle since he wore it proudly. His respect was increased a further notch when Mikal noticed several decorations on his uniform. 

Saluting in return, Mikal took the pad and entered in his command code. He scanned the text and then placed the pad under his arm. 

ÏOrders have been verified, Major, any information you can supply on the Russian Freedom League would be useful.Ó 

ÏThey are a minor organisation, quite pitiful really. Usual activities include handing out deflamatory messages about the state.Ó his answers were quick and self assured and unlike most of the politicians, direct and to the point. ÏNormally we would not bother with such a organisation, but intelligence has informed us that they have just become a threat. They say they will have more information for us en route. Also, some of the other minor democratic groups have been acting up and this will serve to keep them in line.Ó 

ÏWho do we have on standby?Ó Mikal began moving down the corridor, Major Rasputin following just behind. 

ÏMajors Ghazzi Moldava and Yonishi Takada codenamed Hind and No-Daichi. They just came back off leave, so you havenÌt actually met them yet, I believe sir. An observation suite to monitor their progress is ready for your needs.Ó 

ÏIÌm going on this mission personally, I need to get in the flight time anyway. Tell them to suit up, we are going to pay this RFL a little visit.Ó Mikal smiled, he had not seen combat in weeks. He missed it and he needed to evaluate these two. 

* * *

The morning came and with it more arrivals at the Palace. Piotr roused himself from his bed and walked to the balcony. In one of the many courtyards, a large hover wagon began to spiral down. Watching from its gunports, its heavily armoured sentinels sat motionless as the vehicle came to rest. Various people milled around the outskirts as the vehicle gave up its passengers. The echoes of footsteps resounded around the courtyard as the armoured forms walked into the Palace. Piotr turned away looking at the stirring form in his bed. He walked past the expectant face of the women to ready himself to meet the King. 

Doom sat watching the banks of screens, his hood back as Piotr entered the room. Without a word the screens faded to black and the throne turned to face the blonde man. PiotrÌs clothes for the day were far more practical, serviceable. Doom waved him closer. ÏReady to begin?Ó 

Piotr nodded, stepping back as his King rose. Doom raised his hood up over the polished metal and considered Piotr, his new eye whirring as it focused upon the manÌs face. 

ÏCome along, there is much to do.Ó 

The labs were strange constructs built to DoomÌs personal design. These were not shared work areas, they were his. 

Piotr felt like he had stepped into another country. 

ÏMy liege, may I ask why I am here?Ó 

ÏYour knowledge of genetic engineering is highly impressive. Your modifications display subtlety...Ó 

ÏThank you...Ó 

ÏDo not interrupt Doom! You are required to aid in my research.Ó 

Piotr waited, making certain of the pause. ÏIf I may ask, what are you researching?Ó 

ÏThe true answers. Immortality is merely the start.Ó 

Piotr looked around as the screens and monitors began to light the room in a cascade of colours. Names and genetic structures filtered through to the scientist. 

ÏI have lived for nearly three centuries, but this world still rages. There are plans I cannot achieve alone. Look around. Familiarise yourself with the information. You have till the morning, then we shall start work in earnest.Ó 

Doom turned and walked from the room as Piotr lowered himself into his seat. He ran his fingers across the screen as the names appeared. The first file stood ready. The name read: DESTINE. 

* * *

NEW LATVERIA The under construction New Arts Building (or the basement anyway) 

Gabriel Roarke was afraid. No, for the first time in his life, he was genuinely terrified; not only for his life, but for the world itself. He had been recruited a few months earlier by the RFL. His cousin was a founder member of this admittedly rather small, some would call pitiful group of ten people from all walks of life. What they lacked in numbers, they made up for with two things. The first was that the leader, a man who referred to himself increasingly as Jaguar possessed an inordinate number of contacts. 

The second was what frightened Gabriel. He was a family man, he didnÌt hate the empire Doom had built. Far from it, history taught that he had replaced chaos with order and restored decency to peopleÌs lives. However, Gabriel was a petty man who liked to buck the system with minor things. Joining what had been a no hoper radical group with delusions of reverting the system back to democracy (though it didnÌt seem to exist much elsewhere) had been another way of spitting at the system as he called it. At least, they had been minor until Jaguar had managed to somehow obtain (Gabriel did not want to know how) that which now dominated a corner of the basement. A low yield fusion bomb with enough destructive power to erase the Palace and a fair proportion of the area around it from existence. 

Gabriel was wiping the dripping sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief when Pavel Toyarkovitch grasped hold of his shoulder. 

ÏGreetings Comrade, is everything alright? You look a little nervous!Ó Pavel smiled at him. Gabriel had seen him speaking to a few of the others earlier that evening, probably to reassure them about the proposed plan of action. Pavel was almost as fanatical as Jaguar. Anybody who called himself Jaguar could not be considered particularly sane and if he had known then what he knew now, he would have reported them to the security forces without question. His cousin was not here and if Gabriel had a choice, neither would he be. 

ÏGreetings Comrade Toyarkovitch,Ó Gabriel tried to hide his fears as best he could, averting his eyes to avoid contact. ÏAll is well, I hope that by the end of tomorrow night, we shall be rid of DoomÌs tyranny.Ó 

Pavel did not reply, his lips twitching slightly as he sought to avoid showing a sign of disgust. This was missed by Gabriel who still sought to avoid eye contact. 

Outside, three distinctive humanoid shapes hung in mid-air, Doom and New Latverian markings only served to identify them even faster. These were three of the dreaded Iron Men, DoomÌs Elite Guard. Differing body shapes to emphasise different functions set them apart, each carrying different weapon configurations. Face masks hinting at the origins of the pilots behind the suits completed the images. One in the guise of a Samurai helmet, another wearing blood red with stern robotic features. A fierce monstrous creature completed the compliment. 

Behind the mask of a creature from RussiaÌs mythical past called a frost demon, Captain Mikal Poe breathed heavily through his respirator. This was his first combat mission in charge of the Iron Men and he was exhilarated. 

ÏHind,Ó he barked his orders through the com channel, Ïbegin attack procedure lambda.Ó 

ÏAffirmative,Ó was the reply, Ïattack procedure lambda.Ó The blood red masked suit rose slightly higher into the air, weapon systems becoming fully active. Major Ghazzi MoldovaÌs sensors pinpointed the weakest area in the ground before opening fire. Rocket and mini missile launchers, plasma cannons and ion beams burst out from the suit blasting their way through the ground. The barrage did not cease before penetrating down to the basement of the uncompleted New Arts Building. An entire section of reinforced wall ceased to exist, spraying those inside with small pieces of shrapnel. A fragmentation missile followed the barrage inside the now exposed basement, shredding two member of the RFL who were unfortunate to be within the blast radius. 

ÏNo-Daichi, Hind, follow me in.Ó Mikal ordered, igniting his suitÌs jets and diving into the hole, his two wingmen in close pursuit. 

Gabriel was not armed, only Jaguar and his two bodyguards had that dubious pleasure. He hid behind the fusion bomb the moment the barrage started. He figure it would be the safest place to be, since neither side would wish to detonate it while still in close proximity, or so he hoped anyway. He watched in terror as two people he had come to know were sliced into tiny pieces by a fragmentation missile. 

Through the newly created hole, flew in two of the Iron Men. Gabriel was impressed and scared that they had attached such auspicious attention. JaguarÌs two bodyguards opened up with pulse rifles, but to no avail, the energy pulses glancing off the laser resistant shielding. 

Mikal smiled. ÎThis was going to be pathetically easy.Ì He noticed their leader heading for the exit, guided by another one of his cronies. 

ÏNo-Daichi, deal with the guards, IÌll deal with their leader.Ó 

ÏAcknowledged, Frost DemonÓ was the reply. No-Daichi ignited a huge energy sword, cleaving one of the guards clean in two. Another of the scum struck at Mikal with a crowbar with a resounding clang as the blow struck. Mikal felt nothing and with a sweep of his hand, sent the man hurtling into the far wall. Hind appeared in the hole, vaporising two of the RFL with his plasma cannons. No-Daichi dispatched the last guard as Mikal moved to intercept the leader, Jaguar the scumÌs name if he remembered correctly from the files. To his surprise, he witnessed the deputy leader, Pavel Toyarkovitch knock the man unconscious with a blow from behind. He turned to face Mikal and removed a strange device from his pocket, placing it against his face. His face dissolved and reformed with less harsher features. 

ÏColonel Ivanov of his MajestyÌs Intelligence services,Ó he said, handing over his ID card. ÏI was sent to replace Comrade Toyarkovitch after a report came in from an agent we had monitoring this pathetic group. As if they would be able to sneak that into the palace.Ó 

No-Daichi dragged Gabriel over to the two, ÏThis one was hiding behind the bomb.Ó 

Gabriel collapsed to his knees, pleading. ÏI didnÌt know about the bomb. I wouldnÌt have been here if I had known they were so serious.Ó 

ÏHand him over to the interrogators. Found out what he knows,Ó Colonel Ivanov ordered, Ïthen tell them to run the tests to see if he is suitable.Ó With that, he turned and strode over to the hole. 

ÎTests.Ì Mikal had not heard about this. Whatever Colonel Ivanov meant, he was determined to find out. There was more to this than met the eye. 

* * *

Kage listened to the chime once and then again. He pulled himself up and gathered his robe around himself. He pointed to the door and it opened slowly. At its entrance stood the stern figure of the Chancellor Jean Armand. His splendid robes of the previous day had been replaced with a deep crimson. 

The assassin smiled. ÏMy dear Chancellor, to what do I owe the pleasure?Ó 

ÏLet me in. I will not talk in the hallway like some common wretch.Ó 

Kage stepped to one side, sweeping his arm and then glanced out into the corridor. He let the door close, turning to face Armand. ÏWell the skulkers are outside.Ó 

ÏI have had enough of cheek these past days to suit me for a long time. It is from such cheek I come to you.Ó 

The assassin moved to a chair and sat in it, considering the Chancellor, allowing Armand to feel superior through position. He felt for his blade and let his finger tip feel the delicious taste of pain. If the situation turned nasty he was ready. If not, he was alive. 

* * *

The gold leaf on the curtains glistened in the light. It hung over the cubicle she had set aside for herself. Not many had come today, but she was expecting one. 

As it was almost afternoon the Court was slowly rising. Gallivanting late into the night had taken its toll and so many of the young bucks and vixens had nowhere else to be, but their beds. 

From outside she heard a little commotion. Unusual at this time, but she was not about to let idle curiosity get the better of her. 

A gloved hand reached in and drew back the curtains as she gazed out. She knew who it was before she even saw the face. 

Like her mother before her (and hers before her ad infinitum), she was a seer. Romany by heritage and blood, Marguerite was her name now, but she had gone by many. She looked to be in her mid to late thirties and wore a simple red gown. 

Her visitor pulled the curtain back behind him and sat facing her, pushing back his cloak. 

ÏI could have come to your quarters if you wanted privacy. I have done in the past.Ó 

The calm resonating voice replied, ÏThat was the past. It would not be wise for you to visit my quarters.Ó 

Marguerite nodded, deciding not to disagree. ÏYour court will have its tongues wagging. Two sightings of you in as many days.Ó 

Doom simply looked at her. ÏWhat they yap about is of little importance to Latveria. I do not answer to them. Now I came to you for a reason.Ó 

The lights in the cubicle dimmed till only a central beam remained. ÏWhat would you have known?Ó 

Doom closed his right fist as he said precisely, ÏThe future.Ó 

The woman nodded, closing her eyes. 

ÏI see an old enemy. Born of two. The Red Man. Someone close is connected to him.Ó 

ÏI see Chess pieces moved about. Another connection to the past.Ó 

ÏI see digital highways and an island cut from its peopleÌs grasp.Ó 

ÏI see an axeman, clothed in black. An executioner?Ó 

Marguerite was quiet as Doom silently considered her prophecies. ÏThese are unavoidable?Ó 

ÏNothing is unavoidable. But pieces have been placed on their paths and you have chosen your road. Some will cross, some might not. Nothing is unavoidable, but not everything can be missed.Ó 

ÏRiddles. I expect no less. Where the future a predictable event then I would not seek guidance, but any time travel alters details as to make such a trip pointless.Ó He reached into his cloak and took out a tied black bag. 

Marguerite smiled. ÏCustoms must be observed.Ó 

Doom laid the bag into her outstretched hand. ÏAs they should be.Ó 

* * *

Kage slid the panel out of the way. He had dwelt within the Palace many a year and had not spent that time idle. His role at court was well known. He was expected to perform much like the whores and entertainers. An assassin who was unable to kill had outlived his usefulness. 

The ChancellorÌs target had forced him to use up one back door in the Palace that could never safely be ventured through again. 

He slipped into somewhere new. 

Into the heart of one of DoomÌs labs. 

He pulled the cover back behind and adjusted to the new surroundings. The truth of accepting this kill was testing himself. Could he make a kill so close to the King and walk away? Pride, stupidity and boredom had pushed him into rising to the ChancellorÌs digs. He would kill the boy and then make a stunning entrance at one of a number of events dotted around the Palace. 

In the quiet he listened for motion as he stalked his target. Nothing came. Slipping out one of his precious blades, Kage advanced towards an open connecting door and slipped inside. The only illumination in the room came from the rows of monitors along each side. Ahead of him he could make out the silhouette of a chair moving along the screens and a head just above the head rest. Kage drew on his strength and walked stealthily forward, ready for that kill. 

It was then the chair turned and Kage came face to face with a cloaked figure all alone in the darkness. 

Doom considered KageÌs face in the dark as the door slammed shut. 

* * *

Armand splashed the last of the aftershave from the bottle onto his face and with a little flourish threw it towards the bin. It hit and was whisked away down the garbage chutes. A little more pampering and he would be ready to head back out again. Outside the door to his quarters stood to female hangers on, each scowling at the other, hoping that this night would further their own aims and standing within the Court. The Chancellor had met both at a previous engagement and come back here under the pretext of changing. He had found himself a little excitable awaiting KageÌs proposed kill time and had not wanted to draw attention to himself. So he had returned to his quarters to wait out the time with two ready made alibis at his door. As far as he was aware that was the only route into the suite, with the only other exit being the fire chute outside the window. Using that would alert the central computers and therefore at the time of the kill he was firmly placed at his quarters nowhere in the vicinity of wherever ÎpoorÌ Piotr would meet his end. 

From behind sounded a little cough. 

Armand span around, indignant. In front of him stood Kage, still clad in his assassinÌs garb. ÏYou smell sweet for a corpse, Armand.Ó 

ÏWhat are you doing here?Ó Armand demanded. ÏTo you my name is Chancellor. How did you get in here?Ó 

ÏQuestions, questions. Shame no time for answers. Did you think you could rid yourself of one or other enemies by sending me after the boy? If I killed him fine, if not I died. And you Scott free. Things have changed. You stepped on the wrong toes, former Chancellor. IÌve been sent with a message. Your final one, but you can serve as a warning to others or so IÌve been told.Ó Kage swirled the knife around in front of him, sweeping it up to press to ArmandÌs throat. 

The Chancellor coughed, sweat running down as the blade drew blood with its tip. ÏWho... who is the message from?Ó 

ÏYou know. IÌve been told to tell you games are only allowed to be played by his rules. You went outside that and he decided I was more useful. So Armand, you die. What a good alibi you have here?Ó 

Armand backed away till he felt the sink protruding into his back. 

ÏThere is no where to run. No one to call to. He knows what is going on here. You should feel privileged heÌs watching your death scene.Ó 

ArmandÌs eyes closed as defeat filled him. Kage leaned closer. ÏThe message is ÎThis is no oneÌs land but DoomÌs.ÌÓ The blade pressed in and Kage went to work on insuring the message would be relayed. 

From above Doom looked down at the screen at his foot, then turned and walked away to deal with real business. 

* * *

In a world with two superpowers who would you bet on? 

Latveria has more borders than you might suppose. For all its land span it touches the past and future as well. It may have a heritage further back than the Twentieth Century, but make no mistake this is DoomÌs realm. It is he who decides who lives and dies within its borders and the direction for his people. 

If there is one possible difference between Doom and the Avengers it might not be the one you expect. For you see Doom does not see his people as a resource. The rest of the world acts as his playing field, but in his heart he does what he does for the well being of his people. He is a man of vision, but that vision very often clashes with those plans of others. He makes no apologies. He is right as many a person on the streets of New Latveria would tell you looking up in awe at the looming presence of the Palace. True, there are those who would disagree, but at no time was debate asked for. 

The Courts of Medieval Kings often travelled the kingdom to remind the people who their allegiance was to and for the Monarch to stay abreast of what happened within his realmÌs borders. Doom does not, not because he would not take pleasure in seeing his subjects, but because his Court serves a different function. His Court do not represent the best of his subjects, for the most part. His Court are those that would cause harm to the truly worthy of Latveria. Doom does not travel because he does not care, he does not travel Latveria because he cares too much. 

In a world on the brink of war the dangerous man would be the one who has nothing left to lose. But what of the man who has everything to lose and fights for a cause he has believed in for three centuries? 

**AN END... BUT NEVER THE END**

* * *

Well we hope you enjoyed the first Doom miniseries. This second issue should have been out a lot sooner than it was, but real time and also losing the entire first draft of some of the sections delayed it a little. Nevertheless its here and weÌre quite pleased with it. 

It is purposefully a Political tale. An introductory tale. Elements had to be set up for use and later oneshots and limited series throughout the year will expand upon them. If anything in here has caught your eye and youÌd fancy a try at writing a Oneshot on Doom or anything within Latveria then by all means submit to us through the usual channels on the MFS homepage. The idea is to touch upon as many aspects on Doom for the first year of MFS to play with in the second. There are all manner of tales waiting to be told, from the people of Latveria right through to those centred on their King. DoomÌs presence in this first story was more to the sidelines, always present in the background, suiting the strange amalgam of ideas and character traits he has become. To my mind Doom is again one of the most interesting figures we have in MFS, maintaining his enigmatic nature even in the spotlight. It was also a conscious decision to make him an opposite to the Avengers in America. The question will continue to be asked about what constitutes a hero and I can tell you stories are planned where Doom may fit the category, yet remain entirely true to his persona. 

As it stands the next Doom story will be by Jac Milnestein, spinning out of the next _Fantastic Four: MFS_ miniseries. A tale about chess, the past and old rivalries. After that should be my second story cementing DoomÌs role amongst the Immortals of MFS and maybe answering the question of whether Doom is truly immortal. Other Oneshot ideas have been bandied around and weÌll see who we can rope in to tell a tale. 

Any mail on the last two issues can be sent to me at [Starman26@hotmail.com][1] and IÌll pass it on to the appropriate person or publish it within the upcoming MFS site magazine. 

If youÌre interested in seeing where elements from here spin out to then I can say keep an eye on Thunderbolts and Excalibur. For more on the Special Executive just keep your eyes peeled. Who knows where they will make their first appearance. 

Thanks for reading. 

   [1]: mailto:Starman26@hotmail.com



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